What I Remember Most

by Cathy Lamb

  Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)

  Date: October 4, 1990

  Goal: Adoption

  Employee: Angel Hollis

  Grenadine says that living with Jill and Havel Preston is okay, but there is one boy living with them (Taryn Walters) who has a raving monster in his head. She says that he talks to voices, wrestles with chairs, and likes to stab scissors into the walls. The only thing that makes him calm down is when she lets him watch her draw, so she draws for him every day for almost two hours. She’s a giver!

  One of the teenagers, Dev Matteson, tried to hang herself in her bedroom with a rope. Grenadine found her, stood on a chair, and used scissors to cut the rope. Dev survived. It appears that Grenadine caught her in the nick of time. Grenadine insisted on visiting Dev at the hospital, and skipped school to do it. Grenadine said Dev was upset because of “loneliness that didn’t go away.”

  Grenadine also said she would never touch a rope again.

  When she talked to me about what happened to Dev, she fainted. She says she feels sick when people are hurting.

  She has a job as a waitress and says she likes it because the owners are nice to her and she gets a free meal a day.

  This is a poor placement, and I will be requesting a switch immediately . . .

  Children’s Services Division

  Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild

  Age: 15

  Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)

  Date: February 13, 1991

  Goal: Adoption

  Employee: Angel Hollis

  Havel Preston says Grenadine is “a little stupid” because she can’t read or write well and her teacher has called and asked for extra help at home, but Havel says he works all day and can’t help the kids at night, too, plus his wife is sick so he has to cook dinner and do laundry and cleaning so his wife can go to bed.

  Jill Preston looks tired. She can hardly stand up. She said she is suffering from migraines, ovarian cysts, which she says are causing her pain, and diverticulitis. She could not initially remember which child was Grenadine, but when I mentioned the one who liked drawing, she knew exactly who I was talking about. She says Grenadine can draw anything. She has put up the pictures that Grenadine has drawn on their bulletin board.

  One picture is of a bird alone in a nest holding a tiny, red kite and crying. Another picture is of a girl wearing a red, crocheted shawl. She is standing alone in front of a forest with fog. The third picture is of three people dancing around a bonfire wearing lilies.

  I’ve never seen artwork like this. There’s something eerie about them. Haunting, but beautiful. Grenadine says she hates all the pictures.

  Jill apologized profusely but said that with her health issues, she is unable to care for all of the children anymore. She said she had already contacted Bruce about this, but he hadn’t gotten back to her. She would like us to take seven of them, but she said that Grenadine can stay, as she is the best behaved child and helps out around the house.

  Grenadine told me that Havel and Jill fight and Havel yells. I talked to Havel about this, and at first he denied any yelling, but then he cried and said that he did yell, that the family is overwhelmed and can’t do foster care anymore, except for Grenadine, who is their favorite.

  I assured Jill and Havel that we would move the kids out of their home immediately. Henry Chao is handling that.

  I will begin my two-week vacation tomorrow. My 35 kids will be checked on by other case workers, as planned.

  39

  Multnomah County Police

  Incident Report

  Case No. 91-9473

  Reported Date/Time: March 8, 1991 20:30

  Location of Occurrence: 8221 Deauville Dr., Portland, Oregon

  Reporting Officer: Maria Jefferson

  Incident: Girl living alone in home

  On Friday, March 8, we were called to a home in the Benson-ville neighborhood. The home had been abandoned by its previous owners the month before, according to the neighbors. The lights were on in the house, the curtains were closed, and they could hear music.

  When we arrived we knocked on the door and the girl inside asked who it was. She did not open the door. We told her it was the police, and she told us that her parents were on vacation and to come back in two weeks. We told her that we wanted to talk to her, and she said she did not like talking to police officers on Fridays.

  I asked her if she could make an exception this one time. She said no, no exceptions. I asked her why she didn’t talk to police officers on Fridays. She said it wasn’t a good day to talk. We asked her to open the door, and again she refused.

  We told her that if she didn’t open the door we would have to break it down. She said, please don’t, she needed the door, as it would soon be snowy out and cold.

  We told her one more time to open it, and she finally complied. She opened the door, and we stepped in. It was clean and neat inside, although there were only a few pieces of furniture. An old couch, a table, and chairs. There was no one else in the home.

  She had made chili and politely offered us some. We declined, and she sat down and continued to eat. We asked her her name, and she said it was Flower Child.

  I asked her where her parents were, and she said that she wasn’t sure, but they were somewhere in the galaxy. I asked when they were returning, and she said, “Now, that’s a mystery. It’s a bad and sad mystery.”

  I asked how long she had been living in the house. She said she had been living there long enough to have some peace and quiet. She said it was “damn hard” to find peace and quiet, and did I think the same thing? I said I did.

  We asked her a few more questions, but she kept changing the subject. She talked to us about Van Gogh, the artist—Had we seen his paintings? What did we think? What about Monet?

  While I was talking, Officer Micah tried to find out who she was. She finally told us her parents names’ were Freedom and Bear Wild and asked if we could look them up for her. Obviously those were not their real names, and when we asked what their real names were, she said she didn’t know and that she called them Mom and Dad.

  I noticed some drawings at the table and asked to see her artwork, and she handed them over. I wanted to see if she’d written her name down, but I was distracted by a drawing. It was of a girl sitting on a lily pad on a pond, only the pond was a mirror with handles. Deep in the pond was a snake wrapped around a knife.

  It’s hard to explain, but it was a neat picture. She’d torn construction paper into tiny pieces and added it to the picture.

  I saw her name, called it in, then we got CSD on the phone.

  While they were looking her up, I asked the girl if her name was Grenadine Scotch Wild. She said, “Not today.”

  Grenadine had been assigned to a foster home run by Jill and Havel Preston. She had not been reported missing.

  When we told Grenadine she had to come with us, she said, “No, thank you, I’m fine here,” and continued to eat her chili. She said she had a job as a waitress and has this house and didn’t want to leave. She asked if we were sure we didn’t want some chili and said that she felt bad eating in front of us when we weren’t eating, but she was as hungry as a bull on charge.

  We told her we weren’t hungry and again told her she had to come with us, and she said that she didn’t mean to argue with us and she hoped we didn’t think she was being rude, but she was happier here and did not want to live in foster care anymore. She called it “a fucking zoo. But animals could do a better job of running it than they do.” She also said she’d rather throw a dead possum than go back.

  We finally insisted she come with us. We thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t. She cleaned up after herself in the kitchen, wiped down the counters, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and swept the floor. She said she had to go diarrhea because foster care gives her diarrhea and left the room.

  Within a few minutes we realized she was gone. We cau
ght Grenadine running down the street with her backpack. She is fast. I’ve hardly ever seen a kid run that fast. She was not happy to go back to foster care and said, “Swing me a cat, I hate fucking foster care.”

  We will be contacting CSD immediately about this placement . . .

  40

  To: Staff

  From: Margo Lipton

  Date: March 9, 1991

  Re: Jill and Havel Preston’s home

  Jill and Havel Preston’s foster home has been shut down, as they did not know that Grenadine Scotch Wild had been missing from their home for three weeks. Remember to refer all questions from the press to Wilson Deveneaux.

  41

  “Rozlyn.”

  “Yep, darlin’?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure, sure.” I saw the worry in her eyes. We took a short walk, following the pathway into the woods from Hendricks’. The mountains loomed, blue and purple in this light, like a postcard, a dusting of snow on the ground.

  I told her about Covey, his arrest and mine, my stint in jail, upcoming jail time, my predicted future. I told her that Covey would not tell the prosecutors I was innocent because he was pissed off I was divorcing him. “And, I don’t think you want someone like . . .” I choked, held the tears in. “Like me to raise Cleo.”

  Rozlyn, without hesitation, hugged me. “I want you to raise Cleo, Grenady.”

  “But what about the charges? Going to jail?”

  “The charges are false. I know it. I believe you. You would never steal from anyone. Your ex-husband should be neutered. This doesn’t change things for me except I need to stay alive long enough for you to get out of jail if you’re headed that way.”

  I was so mad. One more thing that Rozlyn had to worry about now. Damn Covey. “When I’m out, I will come back and be the best second mother to Cleo that she could ever have. I promise you, but please, Rozlyn, don’t give up.”

  “I will never give up. Never. I will fight like hell. But sometimes fighting like hell does not change the outcome of things. That’s why I have you, you potential jailbird, you.”

  “And you’re sure?”

  “Positive. I wish I’d met you the day I was born, Grenady.”

  “Me too.” I thought of my life from the day I was born. Specifically after I turned six. My life, with Rozlyn in it, would have been unimaginably better.

  “You’re like my soul sister, Grenady.”

  “And you’re mine. It’s the oddest thing.”

  “If I were gay, Grenady, I want you to know that I’d marry you.”

  I laughed. “I’d say yes, Rozlyn. Unfortunately, I do not want to see you naked or touch your boobs, even though they are spectacular and perfect, but if I did . . .” We let that one fly on our laughter, up through the trees to the tops of the blue and purple postcard mountains.

  “But I would want to marry you only if Leonard said no.”

  “I understand.”

  “You’re not offended that he’s my first choice?”

  “Not at all. He sounds quite handsome.”

  “He’s smokin’. He needs my 225 pounds of eternal love and passion. I want to mount that man like a horse.”

  “You betcha.”

  We held hands, my scarred hand in hers, back to Hendricks’. I had a feeling we’d be holding hands often in the future.

  And I would hold Cleo’s hand when Rozlyn was not here to do it herself. I would reinvent myself, once again, and become a mom. A darn good mom, too.

  On Sunday I finished the collage of the woman in the ball gown. Her dress was filled with trinkets and color. I even added tiny beads to her white gloves and plastic purple jewels to her shoes. It was a blast of creativity and motion, the dress filled with a hundred things to marvel at.

  The dark forest loomed behind her.

  I loved it.

  I hated it.

  I hung it on the wall next to the cracking vase village.

  “Good to see you, Grenady.”

  “Hello, Kade.” I smiled and shut the door to my car. “Perfect weather for a party.”

  We both tilted our heads up to the blue sky. Freezing cold, as cold as a cow’s tit in December, but blue as blue can get. Like blue cotton candy.

  “I think we’ll do okay.”

  “Me too,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”

  Kade was standing on the front deck of his home. He was in jeans, a black thermal, and cowboy boots. Deadly, sexy, dangerous to my Big V. If I was a woman who wanted a man in her pants again, I’d choose him. I was wearing jeans, black boots, and a pink silky shirt and tank top underneath my jacket.

  “How are you?”

  “Not bad at all.” I was faking good cheer behind a bright smile. Rozlyn, Cleo, and I had made a collage together of three bluebirds on a bird bath early Saturday afternoon. Early this morning I’d had a dream of two bluebirds crying over a coffin.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. Doing well.” I ignored the concern in those dark eyes. “How are you?”

  “I’m ready for the State of the State of Hendricks’ Furniture.”

  I laughed as I reached the deck and stood in front of him. “No, you’re not. You’re not ready at all.”

  “You’re right. That’s why you’re here. Come on in.”

  “Already love your home.”

  “Thanks, Artist Lady.”

  Kade’s home was right down the street from where I parked my car and went to sleep one night when I did not yet have a home that was not on wheels. It was up on a hill, lots of wood and rock, tons of windows, and a deck around the whole thing. It was private and quiet because of the forty acres he owned surrounding it.

  “Unbelievable.” I stopped in the entryway. It was like walking into indoor nature. There was a spacious great room, kitchen, and dining area with a two-story rock fireplace, wood floors, and leather furniture. It was a home for a stud. But what struck me was the view of the mountains through the two-story windows. Right in front of me. The window frames framed the mountains like they were a picture. “Wow.”

  “Like it?”

  “Geez, Kade. That view. And the house looks like it’s from a magazine. Did you design it?”

  “I did, with an architect in town. Her husband built it.”

  Kade built the kitchen cabinets and the island. The island had two pillars on either side that rose to the ceiling, and two raccoons were carved into the pillars, as if they were climbing up it. “You definitely have a sense of humor.”

  “I try,” Kade said. “Despite what people may think. I do.”

  I ran my hand over his kitchen table. He had carved a huge nest in the center of it. The back of each chair had a different bird carved into it—a blue heron, a hawk, an osprey, an owl, a chickadee . . . and a penguin.

  “The penguin would be the humor,” Kade said.

  “I love it. That’s the seat I’m going to sit in.”

  “It’s yours.”

  There were carved wood pillars in the entry and living space. On two of the wood pillars he had attached bald eagles, as if they had landed there that second. The corners of the window frames had been carved with animals, too: elk, deer, grizzly bear, raccoon, wolf, falcon, cougars . . . and a giraffe. “And I’ll take the giraffe.”

  “The giraffe is now yours, too. Behold your giraffe.”

  “I behold my giraffe.”

  He was a master carpenter. Extremely talented. “Kade, I hardly know what to say. It’s beautiful. It’s home art.”

  He seemed pleased, truly pleased. “It’s a good place to drink a beer.”

  “That’s it?”

  He shrugged. “And steak. Steaks taste good up here, too.”

  “I would think anything would taste good up here.”

  “Want to see the rest?”

  “You bet I do.” Could I move in? I was glad I didn’t say that.

  Besides the great room and kitchen, Kade had an office downstairs, manly, with a huge desk, much like the one at
his office. Upstairs were four bedrooms. One of the bedrooms had workout equipment. The other two were bare.

  Clearly, when he had designed the home, he had planned for kids. I tried not to let that ridiculous, controlling, blond bomb of a future wife with a dry vagina irritate me too much.

  “That is one enormous bed.” I said when I saw his master bedroom. “Built for a giant. Hmmm. Who’s the giant?”

  Kade laughed. “It’s a king. It seems bigger because of the way I built the frame.”

  “You almost need a ladder to get into it. Or one of those springboards that gymnasts use before they hit the vault. Do you have a springboard?”

  “Got rid of it. I tried it and almost broke my neck.”

  “I would have liked to see that flip and jump, Kade.”

  “It was somethin’ special.” He winked at me. I could feel myself blushing.

  “You should sell beds like this. Overly large and high. Fun.” There were two bald eagles carved on the headboard. “I love those bald eagles. I’m not trying to butter you up, because then I would annoy myself, but I feel like I could touch those eagles and feel their feathers.”